


Deus Ex Machina

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-22
Updated: 2007-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Do you believe in God?





	1. Draco's Pansy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

‘Do you believe in God?’

He shakes his head slowly, distinctly. There is a long silence. She tosses back her hair softly and looks up at the spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. The harsh quality of his quiet voice takes her by surprise. It is a knife – sharp and straight, with every connotation of innocence and experience.

‘Do you?’

She laughs, uneasily. She looks at him. His eyes are pointed and razor-sharp. They hurt, physical, stabbing pain – she almost feels that he can read her thoughts. She surgically removes the smile from her face.

‘I don’t know. Will you stay to find out?’

His eyes glint, her cheeks flush and somewhere far away, a purple-haired woman weeps for a werewolf.

‘No.’ 


	2. Lily's James

‘Do you believe in God?’

It is more of a statement than a question – an insular comment – religion at it’s truest. They both know the answer. But it’s a question that had to be answered to be asked and has to be asked to be understood and they both want understanding, so he’s asking it.

He runs his fingers over her earring, playing with the small stone as it dangles from her lobe. She feels the tug, a moment of pain, but says nothing. They’re both communicating with something, anything, anyone but one another at this moment. And a moment later she’s back to normal, an easy smile and prickling voice, glittering eyes and angry hair.

‘Yes. Yes, of course I do.’

Her white skin is paler than ever and is creased. He always marvels at how her emotions change at an almost unnatural frequency – first she was smiling, then pensive, then calm, then irrational, then cheerful and now anxious, all within a matter of moments. The human psyche, he thinks to himself, is an incredible thing.

‘What do you mean “of course”?’

Her forehead collapses in on itself and it takes every muscle in his body not to go and unfold it.

‘I mean, well I mean that obviously I believe in God. I’ve always believed in God. But I’m not so sure anymore.’

He’s hurting. He wants to gather her up, sweet baby, and show her a world where it’s so perfect that there must be a God – Judaeo-Christian and smiling down on them. She is always so sure and steady – how will the world cope with her uncertainty?

She’s flickering again – from anxious to rational to concerned to finally land on blissfully ignorant.

‘How about you?’

He bites his lip hard. Too hard – he’s drawn blood. He licks it off.

‘I don’t know. Will you stay to find out?’

His lips find hers, they both relax and somewhere not so far away, a short unappreciated boy holds a secret conversation with Bellatrix Black.

‘Of course.’ 


	3. Bella's Peter

‘Do you believe in God?’

She has to check herself, not to snort. She gives a cursory glance around herself. They are holed up in a dark cellar; their last candle burnt out hours ago. She’s beginning to feel like it – burnt out, fizzled down, stone cold in the ground. Through the darkness she can see the shape of him, the roundness of his head and the limpness of his hair. He’s tense, suddenly. He needs her to give the right answer.

‘No. I believe in humanity.’ She pauses. ‘No, I don’t. I don’t think I believe in anything.’

He leans forward and her heart starts pumping. She is so skilled at hiding fear that it is merely the tribal tattoo of her heart in her head that gives any sign of the young girl within. He goes in for the kill.

‘Then, what’s it all for?’

She bites her lip, trusting that the dark will mask it, and unconsciously rubs her Mark – her touchstone, her peace.

‘The Dark Lord knows what he’s doing. I trust in him.’

He slumps backward, and speaks into himself.

‘I would not trust the Dark Lord.’

She narrows her eyes; he knows what she’s saying. The words themselves are unimportant. A beat, a crash of silent drums. She looks up.

‘So, do you? Believe in God?’

He thinks of his grandparents – zealous Anglicans who disowned magic.

‘I think I used to. I can’t be sure.’

She rolled her eyes, he averts his. Far away a messy-haired soldier flattens down the hair of his newborn son.

‘You’re never sure.’ 


	4. Lucius' Cissa

‘Do you believe in God?’

His glance slithers up her body, taking in her every molecule. She sits still, tense. She’ll never let him know that she’s shaking inside. She’s never let him know that she’s always shaking.

‘Yes.’

Short, hushed sentences. Nothing to give away, everything to hide. He sighs, breathing out in a fiery line of cigar smoke. He looked debonair, smart and slick and sleazy. She’s shaking again.

‘Do you?’

She sees his eyes roll, a momentary flicker of white and blood. He knows that she could never deal with being questioned. Tall and proud, silent and sure. Every conversation was his. He held the winning hand – but he knows that she’s been counting cards. For once, he deigns to provide her with an honest answer.

‘No. It would be hypocritical.’

‘Why so?’

He’s surprised but the sharpness of her reflexes. She knew what he was going to say, he realizes with a shudder. Now he’s shaking.

‘Because I don’t think I deserve a heaven or hell.’

‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

‘I know.’

Her eyebrows move closer to one another - for once, he fears her. 

'I need a real answer. I will stay to find one.' 

She states, he flinches and far away a purple-faced man secures his letterbox with cake.

'I know.' 

 


	5. Lavender's Seamus

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

He should be surprised, but he can’t find it within him to be. Nothing surprises him anymore.

 

‘My mam did.’

 

She writes words on her knees with her fingers. Her knees are too bony, he’s always thought. Some girls have round knees, fleshy knees. She has knobbly knees. As she speaks, she traces the word into her leg.

 

‘That….doesn’t….answer….my….question.’

 

He sighs. ‘Yes. Yes, I believe in God.’

 

She leans forward, her face animated. ‘What’s that like?’

 

He almost laughs – hollow. ‘What? How do I answer a question like that?’

 

‘Honestly.’

 

He smiles slightly. ‘Safe. It makes you feel safe and loved. I always have someone to turn to. I always have friends. I’m never overburdened – someone will always share my load. It’s like casting a Shield Charm forever and ever. No one can touch me, while I hold hands with God. Not even in death. Especially not in death.’

 

Her eyes are round as saucers. ‘Sounds nice. ’

 

He is frustrated, she doesn’t understand.

 

‘Maybe one day you’ll find it.’

 

‘Will you stay to find out?’

 

He nods, she blinks and somewhere not so far away, a mischievous boy Levitates a Niffler through an upstairs window.

 

‘Yeah.’


	6. Ron's Hermione

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

She raises her head to look at him. She had been staring into the fire, seeing dances in the flames, hearing music in the crackles, an almost physical freedom. He smiles as he sees her mouth. When she considers the corners of her mouth twitch in turn. They’re twitching now.

 

‘I believe in believing in God.’

 

He groans inwardly, but humours her. He’s never quiet sure why he does. Maybe it’s because he’s her friend. Or maybe it’s for the spark in her eyes when he does it. Maybe. 

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

Like striking a match, he sees the spark ignite in her eyes. He has a sudden urge to touch her eyes, to hold the spark and feel it burn. 

 

‘I mean that I believe in belief in God. I believe in a…psychological state. A state of God. When a person has God within them, because they create God as a mental tool for hope and fear and love and punishment. It helps people, it gives them strength. God is within each person.’

 

No words. There are no words.

 

‘Oh. Is God within you?’

 

The spark dances in her eyes. She stands next to the fire and he can’t help comparing. There is no comparison.

 

‘I don’t know.’

 

‘Will you find out?’

 

Her eyes flicker to the fire, his eyes follow their glow and somewhere not so far away, a haggard man rests in a cave with a Hippogriff.

 

‘I hope so.’


	7. Caradoc's Marlene

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

He laughs abrasively; she turns the pages of her book wordlessly. She stubbornly refuses to meet his eyes; defiantly she stares at the volume in her lap. She concentrates so hard that she can see each speck of dust, before relaxing and allowing her eyes to lose focus. He knows that he’ll have to answer sooner or later.

 

‘We’re on the run from a demonic Dark Lord. Four of my brothers and two of your sisters lie dead. Each day is hell, each moment is damnation. Of course I don’t believe in God.’ By the conclusion he is spitting. She shudders.

 

‘Your words are like ice.’

 

‘I know.’ He looks up. ‘Do you?’

 

Her face softens. ‘No. But I believe in salvation.’

 

He watches her freckles brighten as her colour deepens. ‘Do you wait for it?’

 

She floats, he sinks and somewhere close by a cloaked man whispers: ‘Morsmordre’.

 

‘I don’t think I have long to wait.’<i></i>


	8. Nagini's Tom

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

Maybe, he decides, it isn’t too late for an intellectual discussion. She, on the other hand, raises her head lazily and gives him an exasperated look. He returns it, flashing his eyes and she retreats slightly. A game, a battle, a conflict.

 

‘No.’

 

Her voice is a comfort to him. He needs no comfort.

 

‘You?’

 

His high-pitched laughter raises the rafters.

 

‘I depend on no one.’

 

She tastes her own venom on her tongue.

 

‘I disagree.’

 

‘How dare you…’

 

She simply laughs.

 

He clutches his wand, she skids her tongue through the fire and close by an elderly man is uncomfortably woken by a war wound. 

 

‘I dare.’


	9. Alice's Frank

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

There is a crash of drums followed by a near-whisper of strings. Underneath it all is a tinkling of a celesta, a melody so buried under harmony that she can hardly hear it. Her hand is enclosed in his and she can but smile and she twirls her into dizziness.

 

‘Why do you ask?’

 

His foot slides effortlessly across the floor. Her hair falls backward over her shoulder, fragrant and rich. She smells of bluebells, it is the smell of spring and yet it is too heavy. 

 

A ‘cello is playing a deep, fluid line. He feels it flowing liquid through his veins. It is coloured gold, opulent and it shimmers. He traces the vein flowing down her neck. Pure blood, sure blood. A flautist reaches the highest notes on his register. The notes send a tingle down her spine, he spins her round and still, still the question lingers between them.

 

He smiles as the violins gather and intensify. The moment between them is murdering her very, very slowly. She can detect the celesta again. Harmonies and melodies and yet the question is still there as she feels his hand heavy on her hip.

 

His hand rises, her cheek tingles and somewhere far away, an elderly professor greets a shadowy-looking Seer in an old inn.

 

‘Because this is heaven.’


	10. Albus' Sybill

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

There is emphasis placed on the last word, a kind of scorn. God is a legend, she tells the facts. There is something untrustworthy about the concept and she treats it with contempt and ridicule.

 

‘Me? No.’

 

She nods slightly, suspicion ebbing and relief flowing. He removes his spectacles and begins cleaning them on his robes, concentrating all his energy in one, rapid movement.

 

‘Yourself?’

 

She feels blood rush to her cheeks and wishes she knew how to stop it. She grows heated. She thinks of long mornings in cavernous sanctuaries and Rabbis saying Kaddish and learning Hebrew. Through her mind flashes pictures and words, songs play in the background, she can hear a child’s voice ‘Im eyn ani li mi li, ukhsheani l’atzmi mah ani, v’im lo achshav eymatai.’

 

He replaces his glasses, she whispers and somewhere far away a teenage boy falls for a redhead on her brother’s broom.

 

‘If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?’


	11. Angelina's Fred

‘Do you believe in God?’

She slips on her gloves, pausing only to admire the matt against her skin. Her fingers are elongated and elegant. He wants to slip his hand between them. She leans down to tie her bootlace. He eyes the curve of her neck.

‘Haven’t we already had this conversation?’

He retrieves his bat from a high shelf.

‘Possibly.’

She adjusts her armband.

‘And didn’t I already say no?’

He grins and his cool, collected ears redden.

‘Probably.’

Her laughter sings, his heart thuds and far away a bandy-legged cat curls up to sleep.

‘Hogsmeade this weekend?’ 


	12. Amycus' Alecto

'Do you believe in God?'

She lazily flicks her wand and mutters 'Lumos.'

'Sister! Do you believe in God?'

She sits stony-faced and hisses 'Lacarnum Inflamarae.' She plays her hand through the flames. He's never understood why they never hurt her. She never used to be so cold.

'Sister! Answer me!'

But his sister never took kindly to being compelled. A flash of white as her smile breaks and his fist clenches. He raises his wand. She points hers at his throat and a flicker of panic crosses his face.

'You wouldn't.' There is a note of threat and one of panic in his voice. A war of wills.

She rolls her eyes, he widens his and far away a snake sets his eyes on a redheaded man.

'Wouldn't I?'


	13. Andromeda's Sirius

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

It is the redundant, throwaway comment of a boy who knows what answer is coming. It is the rigidity of his back against her wardrobe. It is a conversation that has no place going anywhere but it’s predetermined destination.

 

It is a silence that chills his very bones. It is the still air around him, swirling motionlessly. It is the oxymoron.

 

‘Yes.’

 

It is the shock coursing through his body. It is the roughness of the word on his skin. It is the sheerest form of surprise. It is jumping out of birthday cakes and champagne corks, corkscrews. He’s screwed.

 

‘No you don’t.’

 

It is the slight smile that plays across her face.

 

‘I didn’t before. But now…’ It is the light in her eyes and she holds his photograph.

 

‘But now?’

 

It is the edge of his voice before you tumble off into the abyss.

 

‘Now I do. Is that a problem?’

 

He catches his breath, she sighs and far away a horse-faced girl glares at her younger sister.

 

‘No. Never.’


	14. Parvati's Harry

'Do you believe in God?'

Her head jerks and her hair flies over her face. Irritated, she brushes it away. The moves are spare and precise.

'Why?'

He reddens slightly.

'Well, uh, we weren't talking and I thought that we ought to be talking to make this less awkward, so I tried to make conversation but actually it's even more awkward now so just forget I said anything.' 

She smiles. 'It's ok. I don't believe in God.'

'Yeah, me neither.' Relief is painted mauve over his face.

He fidgets, she laughs and somewhere close by, a dirty looking House Elf hiccoughs into the night.

'Shall we dance?'


	15. Ginny's Dean

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

‘No, not really.’

 

He twists her hair around his finger, marveling as he always does at its velvet sheen. He’s never quite sure if it’s nature or potions that make her hair so silky soft. He hopes it’s nature.

 

‘I do.’

 

She turns slowly back to her homework.

 

‘I know.’ There is an edge to his voice and it’s cutting across his throat. ‘You told me yesterday.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

She throws down her quill and rises swiftly. She glances back at him with a look of pure disgust. Pure disgust, pure blood, blood traitor – it’s making her sick.

 

‘You look so…you…I…’

 

She breathes, he holds his breath and somewhere far away a Dementor’s breath frosts a window of a warm and loving home.

 

‘It’s over.’


	16. Rowena's Godric

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

He does not even lift his head long enough to give the impression of deep thought.

 

‘I believe in a great vortex in everything was, until one day the vortex split and magic was in one half and Muggle the other. Once the vortex split, matter formed. How else could magic have come about?’ He’s looking down to much for her to be able to tell whether or not he’s joking. She wishes he’d look up. She has a sudden desperation for the twinkle of the stars in his eyes.

 

She looks up. And the twinkle is comforting. She suppresses a laugh.

 

‘What made the vortex?’

 

He peers at her over small glasses. ‘I haven’t a clue, my dear.’

 

She stifles another giggle. ‘Good to hear. And, of course, I absolutely agree.’’

 

He winks, she laughs and somewhere not so far away a great eagle is reborn from the flames.

 

‘But of course.’


	17. Ernie's Hannah

'Do you believe in God?'

She flicks through a pile of flourescent purple cards with a frown decorating her round face.

'No. Do you have my Circe?' 

He smiles almost indulgently and just watches her, her familiar front teeth slightly denting the peach of her bottom lip until she looks up at him appraisingly. He shakes his head and she begins to flicker through a pile of bright blue cards with a well practised eye.

'My Ptolemy is missing too.' And her whole body language says 'Oh bother.' He almost laughs, but there's a bitterness there as well. She cares so much that she hasn't even acknowledged his question.

In a single movement he sweeps every card to the floor.

She screams, he sneers and somewhere far away a shadowy figure stoops into wizarding prison.

'Bastard.' 


	18. Remus' Nymphadora

‘Do you believe in God?’

Enveloped in post-coital exuberance, she neither knows nor cares whether or not she believes in God. But she sees the creases around his eyes and knows that for him, it’s life or death.

‘I’d like to. But I don’t think I do.’

He traces the lines on her palm with a quivering finger, before clasping her hand in his. The lines on their palms match up - palmistry. Hands and veins and blood and hearts. She believes in fate, secretly. Secretly, she believes in the future.

‘I do. But I wish I didn’t.’

There is a slight glitter to her eyes. He’s not sure if it’s for him, or Him.

Glitter, like the glow he sees around her. Glitter, like fate, like the future. Glitter that slips through one’s fingers but sticks to fingertips and shimmers suddenly, weeks afterwards. Glitter, he sees it in her eyes.

She shines, he shimmers and somewhere far away an opal necklace lies forgotten, thrown down a well in a fit of pique.

‘I love you.’


	19. Severus' Minerva

‘Do you believe in God?’

She is somewhat surprised. It has always been his way to avoid politics and philosophy – such questions tend to lead to dangerous conclusions. With equal quantities of misgivings and mistrust, she turns to him. She wants to answer directly into those cold black eyes that have always somehow seemed deceptive.

‘No, I do not.’ Allowing her focus to somewhat widen, she sees worn lines in his face, deeply and evenly crazed. They startle her. She has never thought of him as an old man at all, but the experience and sufferance in his face speak differently. A dart of pity shoots through her and she chooses to expand her answer. ‘My mother did not believe in Muggle religions. When my father died she burnt his crosses.’

And something almost akin to rue spreads a smile across her cheeks. He nods slightly.

‘I do.’

She whips her head around, her hair crashing against her cheek: a sensation reminiscent of a younger, flightier time. ‘I…pardon?’

And for the first time she can remember, the lined face softens. ‘I do. It gives me something to look forward to. Something after this life.’

And she thinks she understands what the headmaster means about him. Just for a moment.

And then his eyes narrow. It is as if the smoke has cleared.

She breathes, he exits and not far from here a red haired boy splinches himself.

‘Something to look forward to.’ 


	20. Cho's Michael

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

Startled, he pauses, his lips not an inch from hers. This is new and unsettling. Quixotic, quintessential, quirky he can deal with. Questions he cannot.

 

‘Why do you ask?’

 

‘Why does anyone ask anything?’ He hears the lifelessness in her voice, too late. He should have heard it before now. He should have done something.

 

‘No. No I don’t.’ But the moment’s gone. The novelty’s worn off. He’s a fifth wheel, superfluous. Admiring the sheen of her hair, he idly wonders how long she’ll keep him for.

 

‘I do. We appear to differ.’ And she isn’t simply talking about theism.

 

He grimaces, she swallows and somewhere far away an awkward-looking man with a lime green bowler hat admits, for the first time, that he was wrong.

 

‘We do.’


	21. Tobias' Eileen

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

The words trickle in and out of her mind, finally settling themselves in a coherent order at the forefront of her conscious. She lifts a small bottle, opens it, sniffs the contents and replaces it. Her movements are smooth, concentrated fluidity hiding something else entirely.

 

‘I’m not quite sure what you mean.’

 

His brow dips. ‘What could I mean?’

 

‘I don’t know. My family never spoke of any Gods.’

 

A silent affirmation dies upon his lips. He doesn’t understand how this can be, how she can be so cold and unfamiliar. He doesn’t understand.

 

She looks over at him, questions on her lips, but finds herself muted. Communication, she vaguely remembers her mother telling her, is the most important part of a relationship.

 

She is silent, he is silent, and somewhere far away a sneering boy with a shock of fair hair takes his first, choking breaths.

 

‘I…you…never mind.’


	22. Bill's Fleur

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

The colour in her cheeks rises as she catches his eye by way of the mirror. The colour in his eyes brightens as he takes her in visually. The colour in her lips deepens as she smiles, basking in his gaze, allowing his eyes to play on her like early morning sunlight.

 

‘I do.’ She says, without a quaver in her voice. ‘And I believe in destiny.’

 

The conviction in her voice is like nothing he’s ever heard before. A thousand years from the light, even frivolous nature of her breathy speech, this is hard as a rock, and steadier. Each syllable is emphasised differently and each drips with meaning.

 

‘So do I.’ Every moment feels as if the air is being sucked out of the room. He swallows hard, willing his throat to reopen. ‘I believe in destiny.’

 

Her heart stops, his heart pounds and somewhere far away a desperate mother begs a surly man in a spider’s web.

 

‘Marry me.’


	23. Oliver's Katie

‘Do you believe in God?’

She rolls her eyes and reaches behind herself to free her hair from its elastic band. The back of her hand grazes his cheek so-slightly. She is disgusted by her heart as it skips a beat.

‘No. Alicia does.’

He shoots a glance at her, her head is bent. Quietly, he says, ‘I do.’ 

Silence. They walk on. Her stomach is doing acrobatics.

‘Do you…have someone to go to Hogsmeade with, this weekend?’

She stops in her tracks, hope against hope raging through her soul. Her skin flushes deep fuchsia as he turns to look at her. ‘No, not at the moment. W-Why?’

Every fibre of her being aches.

She is painfully aware, he is blissfully not and close by a tired-looking man morphs bleakly into a beast.

 ‘I was just wondering if you knew if Alicia did…?’ 


	24. Luna's Neville

‘Do you believe in God?’

 

He looks up. He has been tracing words into the dust on the table – names, thoughts, a thousand synonyms for confusion. His finger continues to move, detached from him.

 

‘No.’ The word is exhaled, not rushed. He sounds like her – not quite, never quite there. ‘I never…my…no. No, I don’t.’ He should have stopped at ‘No’, he thinks.

 

‘I don’t. My father convinced me not to.’

 

‘Oh?’ He halts in trepidation. ‘H-how?’

 

She tucks her hair behind her ears. ‘He told me about this thing called Evolution.’ At his blank expression she powers on. ‘First there was Nothing, and then there was a great explosion called the Big Bang, and that made Something, known as Matter. And the Matter grouped together to make Elements and stars and planets and Single-Celled Organisms and they developed into Multi-Cellular Organisms and they developed into fish and into land animals and into primates and into monkeys and then into humans. No God.’

 

He falters. ‘So you’re saying that we came from…monkeys?’

 

‘Yes.’ 

 

He thinks of her other ‘beliefs’ and decides that this one may be too far, even for she.

 

He is sceptical, she is convinced and somewhere far away a Crumple-Horned Snorkack paws at the ground.

 

‘Right…’


	25. Marvolo's Merope

_For Christy._

‘Do you believe in God?’

His snappish tone comes naturally. ‘Stop asking ridiculous questions.’

There is a silence. When he looks at her face, something jars within him. Her face is not tearstained; her cheeks are not pink with the pain of his dismissal. She sits stony-faced and clutches a small bottle. Unconsciously, it seems, she twists the bottle between her fingers.

He looks down at the plate before him, the dinner barely a whisper from his lips. He looks back at the bottle in her hand. She, noticing this, quickly secrets it in her palm. But the damage is done: he’s seen her.

‘Did you…?’ And for the first time, there is a note of awe, even pride, in his voice.

She looks at him with fire in her eyes. But at his tone, the fire dies a little. Her voice is suffocated.

‘Maybe.’ And for the first time, she is her father’s daughter.

His eyes smile, hers waver and close by a tall gentleman purrs sweet nothings into a simpering ear.

‘I don’t believe.’ 


	26. Arthur's Molly

Do you believe in God?'

Her eyes widen. When she was younger, her head would have flicked and her hair would have bounced. She missed the energy of those days. She almost speaks lightly, she almost lies. But she could never lie to him.

'I don't know anymore.' 

His bright eyes soften and something deeper than simple love overwhelms. Wordlessly, he reaches over and touches her hand. 'Tell me.'

Her round features are ashen. 'Each night...I ask, I beg, I pray...that He will watch over us. Over the children. Over Harry. Over...over-' She breaks off.

'Over Fabian. Over Gideon.' He finishes for her. 

His arm is warm around her shoulder, her tears are hot under her lids and somewhere far away a scarred boy falls out of a Pensieve, stunned.

'No more tears, never tears again.'


	27. Dorcas' Benjy

'Do you believe in God?'

Delicately, like an elegant spider, his fingers traced across her knee. There was no weight in the gesture, just gentle grace.

'I believe I did once.' He elongates each soft syllable, mirroring his elongated fingers. 'I was very young.'

She releases a held breath shakily. 'Once every one of us was young.'

'Hard to believe, isn't it?' His smile is surprisingly genuine. Her eyes are diamond-hard. 

If her eyes are diamonds then his are coals: a blacker, more honest carbon. 

She twitches, he removes his spider-hands and somewhere in London a cloaked stranger examines a necklace of opals.

'No more so than God.'

_[Sorry for the long wait. But while I'm here could I possibly shamelessly pimp my story **Toujours Pur** which has just been updated and would dearly like some reviews. Thank you.]_   



	28. Percy's Penelope

'Do you believe in God?'

She is certain she misheard. She knows he would never ask her a question like that, let alone truly want to know the answer. She is almost unsure whether or not to reply.  


She compromises. 'Who's asking?'

His teeth are gritted. 'A man who is considering marrying you and wants to avoid any unpleasant discoveries of religious fanaticism.'

Condescention and arrogance coat his tongue like thick, glossy honey. There is a battle within her, between independance and reliance: between a girl and a woman. Between _fuck you_ and _fuck me._

Her eyes snap shut, he calmly watches and somewhere, miles away, recriminations are granted in blood.

'I believe in God.' 


	29. Pomona's Amos

_Written in response to some thoughts from the ‘Harry Potter on the Whole’ Forums._

‘Do you believe in God?’

He isn’t sure why he is startled. Her respectful silence has not been helping: a direct question like this one might.

‘I couldn’t.’

She presses her lips together. He thinks of his wife, in the next room, weeping uncontrollably, and the tears don’t come. ‘Because of…’

He nods. ‘No true God would let that happen.’

A corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile that has nothing to do with mirth. ‘I disagree. Perhaps no true God would prevent you meeting again.’

‘Meeting…again?’

She nods. ‘Further on.’

Like a crumbling sandcastle, swept away by the tide, something within him dissolves. And he allows himself to grieve.

She looks down, his eyes spill over and somewhere, anywhere, a phoenix laments.

‘Soon.’ 


	30. Ariana's Gellert

'Do you believe in God?'

It is said as a challenge, as a test, as a marker of superior intellect, and he observes her shrewd young face with disdain as he waits for her answer.

'No.' She replies, and he turns to the door in irritation, muttering about returning when her brother is not so indisposed. 

'No,' she repeats, and he turns in frustration and confusion, to explode at this child, this girl who makes him want to pull his _(blond, golden-boy)_ hair out. 'No, I don't believe in God. I believe in truth, and loyalty, and, and equality.'

His blue eyes never leave her, and there is a red spark of anger _(and, really, that was the first sign, and why did Albus never notice that?)_ deep within each one.

He Disapparates, her eyes are steel as she whispers, and somewhere, far away, danger and power meet in a mirror buffed to shining.

'I read them. _All of them._ ' 

_[I'm sorry to anyone who liked the fluff that used to live here but...ngeh, I didn't think it fit and, to be honest, I much prefer this. Read and review, m'loves!]_


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